So he went. It was to have been for a fortnight, but boredom soon set in, and three days before the time was up he made an excuse for returning to London. He arrived one evening without having given Freddie any warning that he would be coming and let himself into the flat with his key.
The sound of music was audible even before he opened the door; it was coming from the radio in the sitting-room, but there was no one in there who might have been listening to it. He saw that the door of the bedroom was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open and went in.
There were two of them on the bed – Freddie and a man he had never seen before – and they were being very energetic. He could hear the man grunting. A quilt which might initially have covered them had slipped to one side and was trailing on the floor, revealing the fact that Freddie and the man were both stark naked.
She was the first to notice that there was now a third person in the room. She turned her head and saw him in the doorway. Immediately an expression of anger came over her face and she screamed at him:
‘Get out of here! Go away, damn you; go away!’
The man now lifted his head and looked at Sterne, and it was plain to see that he was pretty disconcerted at being discovered in that situation. He was a rather portly individual, fortyish, with curly black hair and a bald spot on the crown. He had so much body hair that the idiotic thought flashed in to Sterne’s head that he could well have dispensed with underclothing.
‘O God!’ he said. ‘Oh my God!’
His first reaction seemed to be an urge to get himself out of sight, and he rolled over to the side of the bed opposite the door, tumbled over the edge and disappeared from view.
Sterne had not moved, and now Freddie screeched at him again, obviously in a furious temper: ‘Get out! Get to hell out of here!’
He retreated then, closing the door behind him. But he did not leave the flat. He was damned if he was going to allow himself to be thrust out into the cold just because Freddie had taken another man to bed with her. Admittedly this was her flat, but it was for the present his home also.
So he switched the radio off and went into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. He left the kitchen door ajar so that he could hear when the hairy man with the pod took his leave – as he felt certain he would do – and when sounds from the sitting-room indicated that this had happened he returned to hear what Freddie had to say for herself.
She was in there. She was in a dressing-gown and was smoking one of her favourite Abdullah cigarettes. In her left hand she was holding a generous glass of pink gin and she was standing by the mantelpiece. She glared at him when he walked in.
‘What in hell are you doing back here?’ she demanded. ‘You weren’t due back until the end of the week.’
He answered ironically: ‘Would you believe me if I told you I couldn’t bear to stay away from you a day longer?’
‘No, I bloody well wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘And don’t try to be funny because I’m not in the mood for it.’
‘No, I can see that. Apparently you were in the mood for something, but I wouldn’t call it humour.’
‘And you don’t have to be so damned sarcastic either. I suppose you don’t approve?’
‘Does it matter whether I approve or not? I just think you might have mentioned that you’d be having someone else in to fill the gap while I was away. Are you going to tell me who he was?’
‘I don’t see the necessity. Let’s just say he was someone it suited me to invite round. Someone who happened to please me.’
‘Well,’ Sterne said, ‘I could see he was doing that. I didn’t know you had such a taste for the beer-belly hairy type. If I’d known I might have bought a hair-shirt for wearing in bed, though I don’t know what I could have done about the gut. A cushion maybe.’
This remark seemed to touch some nerve and really throw her into a fury. She spat out some words which he felt sure she must have picked up during her spell in the Navy, like the taste for pink gin. And then she threw the gin in his face.
‘You bastard!’ she said. ‘So this is what it comes to. I set you on your feet. I do everything for you. I give you a roof over your head, a place where you can write, and this is what I get for my pains. Insults. Well, I should have known you were a rat, a bloodsucker, a filthy parasite.’
He thought she was laying it on a bit thick; because whatever she had done for him had been done for her profit as well as his. And apart from the use of the flat, any other reputable agent could probably have done as much. But he knew what was really galling her: it was the fact that he had discovered her in that most undignified of situations in the bedroom. She would never forgive him for that.
One thing was pretty certain: she did not love him any more. But he felt that that had been so for some time, and if they parted company now it was not likely to break the heart of either of them. The time had come for it, and that was that.
As if to emphasise the fact, she said: ‘You don’t live here any more. As of now you’re out.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I think, all things considered, that would be for the best.’ He was mopping the gin off his face with a handkerchief. ‘But I hope you’ll allow me to spend one more night here.’
‘Not in my bed, you scum.’
‘No. In the circumstances that would probably not be advisable.’
*
He spent the night on the sofa and slept remarkably well. He had a feeling of relief at having regained his freedom. Only now did he fully realise how much of a burden the liaison with Freddie had become. The final split might have been made in a less vituperative manner, but the essential point was that it had been made. Now he could go his own way and never need consider whether any action he might take would meet with her approval. Yes, it was good to be free.
In the morning he packed a bag and asked whether she objected to his leaving his typewriter and books and the rest of the gear he had accumulated until he found other accommodation. She answered coldly that it did not bother her, and he could keep the key until he had cleared everything out.
He thought she seemed to be in rather low spirits, and he wondered whether she was regretting her haste in turning him out. Perhaps she would have been prepared to change her mind after all if she could have seen a way of doing so without injury to her pride. But he was careful not to give her any encouragement in this respect; and maybe he was wrong anyway; maybe she was as glad to be shot of him as he was to go. It was probably the manner of the parting that she found depressing, and she might have been feeling somewhat ashamed of her outburst of the previous evening. It had certainly not been very creditable.
*
He took up temporary lodging in a hotel and began looking around for something more permanent. Within a few days he had found a suitable place for rent within easy walking distance of Lord’s cricket ground. In the summer he would be able to drop in and watch a match whenever he felt like it. The property, which was described by the agents as a furnished maisonette of superior quality, was quite small, but it would have been far too expensive for him a couple of years ago; now his finances were in much better shape.
When he had removed the last of his gear from Freddie’s place he returned the key to her at the office in Norfolk Street. There now arose the question of whether or not she was to continue to act as his agent, and he broached the subject.
‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Do you want to find someone else to handle your work?’
‘Frankly, no. I just thought you might no longer care to act for a rat, a bloodsucker and a filthy parasite.’
She grinned suddenly. ‘Oh God!’ she said. ‘I did rather blow my top that evening, didn’t I? I don’t often do that, you know.’
‘You had provocation,’ he said. ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’
She was a good agent and he saw no reason at all for leaving her, while she was too shrewd a businesswoman to reject a client who was likely to become increasingly profitable to her as
the years went by.
So the business association survived, though the other one had ended. It was the sensible way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight – TRYST
He had been living in the maisonette for a couple of months and had almost completed the fifth of the Simpson of the Yard novels. Spring was giving way to summer and he had already paid a few visits to Lord’s. He found that watching cricket was something he could do while still jotting down ideas and bits of narrative for the novel. He took a notebook with him for this purpose, and it seemed to quieten the small voice of conscience which tried to tell him that he ought to be at work rather than sitting in the sun and watching a pack of men in white clothing knocking a leather ball around with wooden bats and chasing it all over the greensward. It was quite a ridiculous pastime if you really thought about it.
It was on a day when he had just returned from one of these pleasant little outings that the telephone started ringing. When he answered a voice said:
‘Hi, David! Guess who.’
He knew at once. Even on the phone, even after all this time of not hearing it, he could not mistake that voice. It was the only one that could have set his pulse racing as it did.
‘Angela!’
‘None other. Surprise, surprise!’
His immediate thought was that she was calling from Hollywood and that the call would be costing the devil of a lot, and how in hell had she got hold of the telephone number? It was amazing too how clearly her voice was coming through across that vast distance; almost as though she were in the same town. And then it struck him that she was in the same town and that she had got his number from Telephone Enquiries, since he was not yet in the book.
‘You’re in London?’
‘Of course. I got in yesterday.’
‘Do your people know?’
‘Yes. I’ve been to see them.’
‘But why are you here? Are you filming?’
He thought it might be a location job; a London background; that sort of thing. But she killed this idea.
‘No, nothing like that. But look, we can’t talk about everything over the phone. We’ve got to meet. Are you busy tomorrow?’
If he had been up to the eyes in work it would have made no difference; he would have put it all aside at a word from her.
‘No, not busy at all. Where should we meet?’
‘How about the old place? Trafalgar Square.’
So she remembered, as of course he did, and always would. He said it would be fine, and they fixed a time, and he spent the rest of the day thinking about it. He woke up in the night and did some more thinking about it. He could think of nothing else. The hours seemed to pass all too slowly, and his impatience was such that he was on his way to the rendezvous long before it was necessary to do so.
Fortunately it was a fine morning, and he strolled around, scanning the faces of all the girls and young women who were doing the same, in the hope that she might be early too. And in the end it was she who found him. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned, and there she was, smiling at him.
‘I thought it was you,’ she said. ‘How awful if I’d made a mistake.’
‘You look lovely,’ he said. They were the first words that came into his head. He had not seen her since that night in her dressing-room in New York when he had had to leave so soon to join that doomed ship, the Northern Light. If he had known then! If she had known! But it would have made no difference; he would still have had to go. ‘So long ago,’ he said, scarcely realising what he was saying; merely voicing the thought that was in his mind.
But she caught his meaning in an instant. ‘Yes, so long ago. Too long.’ And then: ‘Oh, David! Oh, my darling!’ she said. And they were kissing.
The pigeons were waddling around, the stone lions watched impassively, Nelson on top of his column stared straight ahead, the fountains sent their plumes of water into the air, and people came and went. They were oblivious to everything but each other.
‘Do you remember,’ he said, ‘that day when we took shelter in the National Gallery and you told me all those lies about yourself?’
‘Yes, of course I remember. It was fun, wasn’t it?’
‘We don’t need to go in there today. Should we just stroll around and talk?’
‘That sounds a marvellous idea. There’s such a lot to talk about, isn’t there? But tell me something first, because it’s important. Is there anyone?’
He knew what she was asking and he was glad he and Freddie had split up and he could answer honestly: ‘No one. And you?’
‘No one.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘Me too.’
They strolled aimlessly, talking all the time. They found themselves walking down Whitehall and had no idea how they came to be there. Later it was the Victoria Embankment, and later still they were having lunch in a restaurant near Leicester Square. In the afternoon they came, quite by chance it seemed, to the Windmill Theatre.
‘This,’ he said, ‘is where it all started. You gave me the brush-off. Remember?’
She laughed. ‘So I did. I thought you were just like all the others.’
‘But I wasn’t?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Far from it.’
He had learned by then that she was not in London for any filming purposes. That was all behind her.
‘You’re not going back to Hollywood?’
‘Never. It’s a terrible place. Oh, I liked it at first. I suppose I was just dazzled by it all. But it’s so unreal. Everybody’s playing a part, off the set as well as on it.’
He wondered whether that included Leopold Lester and how much that particular character had contributed to her disenchantment with Tinseltown. But he did not ask. Maybe some day he would hear the story, but not now.
He asked her what she was planning to do, and she said she had decided to go back to the stage. That was where she was really at home, not in films. She missed the rapport you got with a real live audience.
‘And have you anything particular in view?’
‘I’ve had feelers. There’s a new musical being planned for the West End, and there could be a part for me. It’s all pretty much up in the air for the moment, but something may come of it.’
She asked him about the place where he was living now, and said she would like to look at it. So they went back there in the evening and she liked it.
‘It’s nice.’
‘I don’t suppose it’s much like the luxury you’ve been used to in Hollywood.’
‘Luxury can be so boring,’ she said. ‘And anyway, this is a lot better than the flat in Rosetta Avenue.’
‘So you haven’t forgotten that?’
‘As if I ever could! Sometimes I think they were the happiest days of my life. We had nothing and it was just heaven.’
‘For me as well.’
‘Really and truly?’
‘Yes, really and truly.’
She noticed his books and the paperbacks and the foreign editions in the bookcase where he kept them.
‘These are all yours?’
‘They’ve got my name on them,’ he said.
‘So you made it in the end.’
‘If you call that making it.’
‘Well, it is, isn’t it? It’s what you always wanted.’
‘I suppose so. But sometimes I can’t help feeling that I’m no more than a hack, turning out the same old book time and time again. With variations, of course. Always the same chief character, this Simpson of the Yard; never altering, never getting any older, sorting out the real fish from the red herrings and never failing to nail the murderer in the end, even if the villain has killed half a dozen more victims before this happy conclusion is reached. And he’s such a prig, sneering at everybody with an IQ less than his and quoting Shakespeare at the drop of a hat. Have you ever met a policeman who quoted Shakespeare?’
‘I’ve never met a policeman.’
‘You’re lucky.’
‘Anywa
y,’ she said, ‘you invented him, didn’t you?’
‘Sometimes I wish I hadn’t.’
‘Now you’re just being gloomy. I think you’ve done ever so well. I’m proud of you.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ he said. And it cheered him to hear her say it. It gave him a feeling of warmth around the heart. ‘One day,’ he said, ‘I’m going to write a real book.’
‘Yes, darling,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you are.’
*
It was getting late when she said it was time for her to return to the hotel where she was staying.
‘Do you have to?’ he said.
She gave him the sort of glance which might have been part of her stage repertoire. ‘Are you suggesting,’ she asked, ‘what I think you’re suggesting?’
‘I should think it’s highly probable – if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking I’m suggesting.’
She laughed, with a delicious gurgle in her throat. ‘This is becoming far too complicated. Am I to take it that you’re inviting me to stay the night?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Then I accept. I should have been most disappointed if you had not.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine – MURDER
She checked out from her hotel the next day and moved in with him. It seemed the natural thing to do. It was like those days in the Lakoses’ house, and yet it was not like them. The Lakoses were dead and they had both experienced much since that earlier time. A war had intervened between those days and these, and much else besides. They could never again be the persons they had been then. People change with the years, but what had not changed with them was the passion they felt for each other. There had been an interruption, but that was all. Now they were together again and it was like a renewal of living.
‘We’ve got so much to make up for,’ Angela said.
He knew what she meant. He felt the same way. There had been too many lost years.
But they could not be together all the time. They both had business matters to attend to. It appeared that the new show would be going ahead and she had been engaged for a leading role. It would take up a lot of her time, but at least it meant that she would stay in London and he would be able to see her on the stage whenever he wished.
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